


Sweet like Bourbon

by smutever



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Angst, Begging, Camilla Macaulay/Charles Macaulay - Freeform, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Oral Sex, Teasing, Unhealthy Relationships, please note this is DUBIOUS CONSENT for sure, references to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutever/pseuds/smutever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis finds every excuse to stop by the Macaulay's apartment; always hoping he'll catch his favorite twin alone with lowered inhibitions. This morning he just happens to get that lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Alone With A Sinking Frown And Glass

Running into to sanctuary from the beating cold, Francis entered the Macaulay apartment on his journey back from the post office. He neglected to address the fact that the only post within walking distance of his home led in no way this residence, and in fact was an additional fifteen minutes off the trail.

Charles had spent the early morning at the police station, enduring question after question with the occasional doughnut thrown into the mix.

He arrived as an unforeseen shadow through a peephole, catching Charles alone in the apartment with a freshly poured drink in hand.

Recently these details would fill every crevice of Francis' body with excitement- the spark of anintimate possibility drove his heart into his throat with dreamy palpitations. He had always craved Charles like a teenage boy reaching for his sock drawer.

It wasn’t until recently did their rare escapades become as frequent as a romp-a-fortnight. Even with the painfully cataloged memories of forced innocent smiles, Francis still made his way with hopeful intentions. Charles simply laughing about his drunken-amnesia ('Crazy night it must of been. I couldn't tell you a thing about it if I tried.’) may have broken his heart. Or not. His feelings on the matter depended entirely on when he was asked. 

Had he had enough time to re-convince himself the cruel illusions of love… or had Charles brushed his lower back while walking past yesterday, causing his entire identity to reset? At this particular moment he had not settled on an particular state, concerning himself more so with Charles’ health.

A paternal fear clouded his ID as he avoided looking at Charles’ drink of choice.

This wasn't Wild Night Mixing Flaming Drinks With Friends- it was Morning Alone With A Sinking Frown And Glass Of Bourbon.

Francis was having a hard time remembering when he last saw Charles neither drunk nor hungover. He entered the apartment, making himself at home by losing his necktie to hang on the over-stacked hallway coatrack. 

Simple greetings were exchanged. Immediately after, Charles retreated from the door to drop heavy bodied onto the couch.

"Starting early, I see." Francis hinted, hoping to spark some type of explanation from Charles. Even an plausible excuse may have subdued his concern, but none came.

Instead the man simply shrugged off the comment, spreading his tired limbs across the body of the couch with closed eyes. Camilla was on campus spending time with Cloke- 'keeping him busy', he reminded himself. He was tired of fighting her on this. She said in the heat of an argument that his concerns were clouding his mind from focusing on fixing their actual problems. She said it was making him impotent. _Impotent_. The clever girl. He could never hate wit that sharp.

Millie and Cloke’s time together was nothing but forced, a picture painted vibrantly enough to catch the attention of public eye, with no reason beyond that. Lips chapped from walking in the biting cold curled around his glass, letting bourbon soothe a searing imagination. Cloke, pink eyed, with a hand around his sister's shoulder dispersed into the welcoming image of the apartment. Forlorn white locks that so easily disappeared along his own were replaced with a wildfire of red.

Charles was never quite sure he felt about this. About him.

Charles’ shut eyes expressed nothing of response. Francis shifted upon the red linoleum. He had always found it tacky for this area of inner city. His shoes felt too small, as if his feet had somehow swelled in the cold. He was fairly sure it didn’t work that way, but was never genuinely convinced of anything.

Francis guessed that Charles was teetering between moody and pleasant. He had answered the doorbell with a smile, appearing glad to see a friend, but now he gazed quietly at nothing in particular across the room, appearing to be lost in an unappealing thought.

"Charles, don't you think it's a little  too early?" Francis raised a ginger brow, prodding further at his ignored questioning.

A heavy silence filled the air as Francis' mouth hung open, anxiously conjuring words that hopefully would make his question less abrasive. "Sometimes I sort of worry about you." Great, he sarcastically scolded himself, boys loves a good guilt trip.

"This really isn't your business to worry about." Charles quickly snipped, tightening his composure to not raise his voice. Instead his words were said level headily. A bite instead of a bark seemed to be his type lately.

It was a sore topic, after all. Charles couldn't suppress the intrusive memory of Bunny's cruel laughter: 'how're the meetings going, Mr. AA?' A sore topic indeed. Henry too now was nipping at him every chance he got. And for what? One lousy DUI? That was the least his self destructive tendencies were capable of under his current stress load. He’d relish in seeing _Henry’s_ attempt to convince the police that Bunny had probably run away, been kidnapped, or was anywhere other than the snow buried ravine that _Henry_ had pushed him from. Just like he had _pushed_ all of them to help. 

Hours of constant lying he could handle, but not at these odds. If Cloke didn’t shut his pig mouth soon, he and his sister would be granted early admission to the Elysian Fields.

Tagging along with Charles' cold demeanor, Francis followed suit. "If you're going to be cavalier, I think someone better start asking seriously. This isn't just about your health-“ his voice hovered close to add an intimate, “which I'm preoccupied with as well.” Before he transitioned back, “What if you got called back in for further investigating? The FBI this time? One sloppy move could have us-"

Charles interrupted the statement before it could be finished. "Εὖγε. That's enough,  Henry ." Charles had visibly tightened. "Look.“ he demanded through gritted teeth. "I spent the last three hours battling a questioning straight from Pydna. If you're going to treat me the same, I'd rather you leave." He punctuated the warning with an deviant gulp from his drink, red rimmed eyes staring pointedly over the glass.

A tense few seconds followed.

"…was it that bad?" Guilt rose in his Francis' stomach and his voice betrayed him.

Part of him wished he could ease the burden of interviews from Charles' domain, but another more selfish side urged him to stay uninvolved. Of anyone, Charles had the face and fluidity of your innocent college student, with a hidden intellect that could craft marvelous misdirection. The unlucky bastard.

He watched as Charles nodded before he took another drink; long this time, taking slow strides in swallowing. It was a task for weak Francis not stare at the throat rising and falling in the wake of incoming alcohol. He found most of what Charles did beautiful, but the insignificant moments of grandiose character were what kept him swooning time and time again for the eldest Macaulay.

After dragging seconds, Francis managed to blink and repose his gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that." Francis continued before he fell silent, grasping for words as Charles extended a curious glance his way. The quiet proceed. Francis retreated tactics. "Please don't be mad."

Charles put down his drink to observe Francis flounder, alcohol not yet forcing down his unreadable mask. He watched carefully as Francis picked at abused fingernails. "I'm not mad." He finally said after a strategically placed pause, mouth curving into the first smile he bestowed since answering the door. "You're always worried about something, Francis. It's your way of being." This rolled off his tongue as if he didn't just come up with it seconds ago, like lines from an play he had rehearsed all night. His lingering smile lethargically made it's way up to aim brightly at Francis' face, of which utterly melted in the bask of such warm beauty.

"I guess so." Francis acquiesced, not hearing much of a point from Charles. The young man was currently quite a picture: hair muffled from rubbing against the leather seat, expression portraying just how content he was to be agreed with. Such things clouded Francis' concentration level, as if he was the one sipping himself into intoxication.

"Are you sure you're not just looking for something to dwell on?" This was a turn. Charles knew he was poking a sleeping bear- the creature that manifested Francis' anxiety. It was nice to be driving the conversation for a change. He edged carefully on his next words, breath like a pub, curling around in an inviting manner. "I mean, it's better than obsessing over other current events- right?" He questioned, with a series of innocent blinks. This was the best way to influence Francis' thoughts. The last thing Charles wanted was his only self-indulgent vice being prodded on. Drinking meant little obsessing, and even less frequent thoughts of the Bachural, or Bunny, or rising tensions with his sister. Drinks were always present in the best of days, back at Francis' Aunts house, where secrets had stayed secret.

Sometimes with his eyes closed and a savored sip on his tongue, Charles would feel a slow rhythm rocking his body back and forth. He would travel back to drunken boat rides with Camilla's head in his lap, sunset approaching the sparkling glaze of lake water. This picturesque dream-like state is what kept the drinks coming.

Francis took this moment to finally take a seat on the couch, not returning Charles' gaze.

"I see what you're getting at." He said flatly, minutes later; trying to avoid giving any emotional compromise away. However, with Francis being almost never-changing, his accomplice knew the exact places to read him.

Francis picked at invisible lint littering his dark pant fabric. With a quick glance, Charles was one to notice such things. "Am I right then?"

Instead of an answer he replied with, "Mind if I smoke?" Then busied his hands in the deep abyss of his winter coat.

In some respects, Charles wondered if he only smoked to have a place for his hyperactive hands; ones of which never seemed comfortable unless paired against bare skin. It would explain why he smoked and fucked more than the rest of their class.

Francis was quick to light his cigarette, but allowed himself a long time-pausing drag before he replied. "I'm not sure."

Charles' drink was running quite low when he realized he was being a rude host. Had Camilla of been present, she would have long ago encouraged their guest to remove his coat and join in for a refreshment. He settled for the last, figuring that topping himself off as well would be the most beneficial. "Would you like a drink while you stew about it?"

Francis dramatically hummed in thought before giving in with a simple "Yes." No further indication for what exactly, allowing Charles that control as he sat back and watched him move to the counter-turned-wet-bar. "You're an awful influence, you know." He added.

Charles looked up, this time to flash Francis a charming smile before coming to a wobbly stand. "Only when under the influence, my dear François!”

The redhead only semi-concealed his love-sick sigh with the exhale of exhaust. His feelings seemed to swim alive through that puff, then disperse around the room with every phantom like swirl of smog.

His eyes followed a tipsy Charles in places best not watched in public. Their drinks were mixed with a slurred manner that still harbored it’s worryingly professional touch; making him think, perhaps this day would be more worthwhile than he expected. Utilizing the nearest ashtray -another makeshift in itself; an old coffee mug that had long been stained with a years worth of ash- in hopeful preparation.

Charles could take care of himself. Francis bit at his lip as he inwardly persuaded. And in meantime- _maybe I deserve to indulge in a vice of my own_.

Charles returned, one shot heavier, with two fresh drinks and words tumbling out of his mouth.“I’can always fix you somethin’ else. Y’know, if it’s too strong.” His hand moved slowly, but continued after half an arms length away. Francis’ reflexes were put to test when Charles nearly bumped the tall drink against his chest.

“-Careful there.” He gently shushed. “Why don’t you take a seat?” His free hand gestured at the spot directly next to himself. The opposite side of the couch offered far too much distance from what Francis had in mind.

It seemed the dizzy man was unaware of the sudden drop in his depth perception; or he simply chose to ignore it. Either way, it was a clumsy fall back onto the couch. If he hadn’t already been sipping at his drink, it would of spilled. “You sir, are far too polite for a guest at my…” he glanced over a sea of empty glasses and an fleet of unreturned books, board game pieces, and cheap silverware; none of which inspired his hyperbole. “…place.”

“If someone has to care for your inhibited nature,” Francis’ hand smoothly made it’s way onto Charles’ knee, longing silently for summer, when Charles showed off his impressive collection of pastel thigh-length shorts. “I’ll gladly oblige.”

Charles snorted a laugh into his drink, gathering a small splash onto the far sides of his lips. It was clear that Francis had noticed by his focused stare. 

Now  this did not escape angelic Charles. Finding himself of the upmost flattered, he lowered his drink to make a show of licking his shapely lips clean. He was, after all, peckish.

Cheeks warming from being flirted back with, his free hand lifted his neglected drink for a taste. He immediately pulled back at the offensive sting. Charles pretended not to take notice. Francis knew he had to of poured a shot of coke to go with this glass of bourbon. 

_How thoughtful. And what a way to get your invitation across._

Francis’ light eyes seemed to darken as they remained captured, his friendly hand inched higher, and was not protested against.

“How Pothos-ian.” The neologic term seemed sound enough. “My eyes are up here, if you happened ‘tah forget.” Charles teased, drunk not only on the acidic bath soaking into his liver, but also on the power he held in this reoccurring situation. Very little made Charles feel sexier than being able to seduce someone into thinking a fuck was solely their idea.

“Beautiful eyes too.” Francis cooed softly, words wafting from his lips. “How long will we be home alone for?” He was careful to exclude Camilla’s name from the question, hoping that the soothing circles his thumb traced along Charles’ upper thigh would create a stimulating enough distraction.

Charles took a slow, deep swallow from his drink before setting it down on the coffee table before them. This movement was as calculated as he could drunkenly make it; lingering while leaning forward, to give an innocent peak at the arch of his back.

Francis followed suit, his nearly full glass making the other look entirely diminished in comparison. He saw Charles notice this. Not wanting to disappoint him, he tilted his head back to finish half of his drink. 

Full eyelashes disappeared as Charles moved his eyes from watching the depleting glass. 

“Why, Francis?” Charles turned back to him, “Have something in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE 10/11/16: I've edited a bit of chapter one to fit better with what I've slowly been working on in chapter two. I'm so sorry for the delay, yikes!
> 
> \-----
> 
> This is meant to take place during the search for Bunny's body. At this time Charles has piggybacking the majority of investigation stress. 
> 
> As the summery alludes to, this will hopefully be followed with a chapter of smut. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Translation references may be found below:  
> Εὖγε: (Greek) well or done  
> Pydna: Refrence to the Battle of Pydna in 168 BC  
> Pothos: Acient Greek god of sexual longing, yearning and desire  
> Elysian Fields: final resting place of the souls of the heroic and the virtuous


	2. Company found in Sweating Thighs and Dreamy Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn with very limited plot chapter. Please check out the warnings (updated) before reading!

“Why, Francis?” Charles turned back to him, “Have something in mind?”

\- - - -

This was fondly familiar. The quiet found in an innocent peck. It brought a spreading warmth that flooded Francis’ cheekbones. This game had been played enough that both opponents knew the stakes; what was to happen after the tedious seconds of processing it took to get back into the swing of things.

Charles smiled cheekily into their kiss and Francis could feel it graze his lips, making his own clumsy teeth clink forward in a rush. His heart was ablaze.

His companion was an experience of euphoric spontaneity. Kissing him made a person feel excited, wanted in the moment, and most of all- alive. Nothing revealed a lover of Charles MacCaulay like nervous sweat or a heart racing to the scream of vitality. He was the muse of artists. Someone who lived to inspire creative minds; almost like Eros himself. Once you got a taste of Charles, it was impossible to not want more of this ecstasy. They were both cursed in knowing this. 

Francis, for lack of better term, jumped onto Charles between kisses. The act is taken only seconds after inviting blue eyes are flashed in the characteristics manner of permission. Long-legged, Francis slid his knees onto either side of Charles’ lap, letting spidery fingers tangle deeply into sandy-blonde locks, ass plopping onto thighs. 

“Mmh,” Charles teased, “Lap-sitting in me is soo arou-” before urgent lips interrupted his praise. This was fine to him, he let his tired eyes close and he kissed back as feverishly as his sluggish body could manage.

Francis found his knees sinking deeper into the couch on either side of his lover. Thighs having a greater mobility to pull his body up or down, he had the advantage of peering down at Charles in between kisses. At this angle, he could see those thick blonde lashes he often dreamt of.

Breathily he pulled away from a string of particularly quick kisses. Though Charles had already forgotten the flirty question he had addressed minutes ago, Francis decided to play on it. “I was thinking something like this, actually.” A thin pale finger traced its way down Charles’ cheek. As it curled right under the man’s jaw. Francis grabbed hold, pulling it forward then gently down to free lips from their slivered part.

Francis’s mouth opened to the taste of liquor and bitter saliva. He didn’t taste much different himself, apart from the added tobacco. His tongue lapped at Charles’ bottom lip before nipping it between his teeth. He watched Charles through a half-lidded gaze as he leaned back, pulling the man’s lip with him rather roughly. It produced a satisfying moan, followed by the pop of letting go. 

“You like that?” Francis smirked in triumph.

“Y-eah,” Charles answers, voice wanton enough to pass for a Chinese buffet. His tired eyes are still closed, giving Francis a moment to admire him. Such beauty can be found in wet lips reddened from rough prodding. Francis was so allured by the fact he himself was at fault for it. It was like fresh breath compared to other guilts he harbored.

He leaned back in, embracing Charles for another open kiss, first slow, but then treading on desperate; as if rushing would prevent this dream from ending.

Charles didn’t move at first. His lips are pliable but deathly submissive. He was entirely a doll-like. Francis noticed of course, but continues like a spoiled child who held still contempt for his broken toys. 

Charles is really feeling the alcohol now, realizing he is not nearly as in control of the situation as he had led himself to believe. He’s stuck, unsure of what he wants. Sex is nice, Francis is easy, I’m not sure if I’m going to pass out or throw up.

Kisses stream downwards. “I’ve missed you,” is melted against Charles’ frozen jaw.

Finally, he sits himself up, giving himself some room to breathe. Francis jolts backwards in a panic —Did I go too far this time? But we hadn’t even gotten started?— that fades when Charles reaches for his glass. That made more sense.

He watched carefully, eyes scanning for some response as Charles gulped down the last of his desolate drink. Before he had the chance to set it down, Francis took a chance sliding his own drink across the table. “Have it. I’d rather be sober for this.” He wasn’t, but he wasn’t nearly as far gone as Charles. 

“I know.” belated in reply, almost mute against a pair of loudly beating pulses. Charles exchanged the drinks and took another sip, slower this time. Everything he could see was moving in slow motion, intoxicated vision. 

“Do you?” He heard the words but it was difficult to decipher where they were coming from. Then, suddenly, Francis’ head was raised up beside his. Warm, inviting breath now against Charles’ ear, invited, “You couldn’t know how dearly I’ve longed for your mouth.” Fingers prod at Charles’ lips in a teasing manner. He knows it’s Francis but he is having trouble remembering if those fingers have already been there tonight or if he is remembering something more distant. Either way, he likes them there.

Francis can see the sluggishness on his face, he’s nervous his efforts won’t draw the life out of the man. But then, with a chaste kiss to the earlobe, Charles shutters involuntarily. 

And that’s a good sign.

“Have you missed me?” Francis whispers, trying yet again, with his lips greeting flushed skin delicately. He begins sucking on Charles’ neck.

“Careful. I-” Charles gasps when Francis nips at a particularly sensitive spot of skin. 

Finally words. Francis feels victorious. “Ah,” He smiles. “It sounds like you have.” The hand on his knee persuasively makes it’s way up to Charles’ inner thigh. 

Sex is nice, Francis is easy, and I think I like this attention…

Charles is already notably effected. Francis finds it cute how quickly his body responds- for a breeder. He loves listening to Charles drunkly moan, his hips reach upwards for a more direct form of attention. He’s hard and would prefer to feel Francis’ grasp on his manhood than his damn leg.

Francis kisses his nose sweetly, then his lips. The balance of power has switched for now, and he would prefer bask in the moment.

“Come on, Francis.” Charles grits his teeth. An impatient complaint would be annoying from anyone else. Francis can’t help but feel flattered hearing it come from him.

“Whatever you desire, love.” his hand drags up, giving an exemplifying squeeze to the erection felt over trousers. Charles squirms, breathing hard. He could probably cum if Francis teased with enough pressure. However, he knows from experience that that won’t happen. These private occasions last as long as Francis can make them. 

Frances kisses him gleefully. It’s now a game for two, which is inexpressibly more favorable. 

His lips press a line from jaw, down panting chest. His hands pry up Charles’ white top so his mouth may reach skin instead of fabric. 

It looks better off than on- which is truly saying something. Charles must of dressed up for his interview this morning. Fast enough, with help, it’s thrown onto the floor, allowing Francis to kiss further down and press harder to suck as he pulls away. He does so slowly and tantalizing. Proud as faint bruise marks fade into view.

Finally he makes it to the edge of Charles’ pant line. He’s adjusted to sit his knees on the floor, with his chin resting against the button of Charles’ trousers. His eyes are hungry as he ogles the needy legs spread form before him. He can feel it’s presence in a firm wet pressure against his Adams apple. 

Charles opens an eyes to peak down. He sees Francis’ content smile staring right back up at him. He’s almost too dizzy to process it, but once he does, he is not amused. “Move your f-fucking neck.” He instructs weakly, voice horse, as he sways his head.

“I’d love to… if you asked more politely.” Francis chimes back instantly. 

“What are you-?” Charles asks confused. He’s squinting down at the blur of red on top of him.

Francis takes a cocky deep breath, knowing Charles can feel it pressing against his sensitive shaft. 

He takes pleasure in hearing the sudden shake in breath, followed by Charles drawling out desperately. “Oh-h… What’da want me todo?” His head dipped limp against the back cushions, making the ends of his ethereal hair smush into the crease.

Francis’s concentrated eyes don’t leave Charles’. “Beg for it.” He accents the first word with an exaggerated lip movement- always the dramatic.

“You’re jokin’.” Charles assumes impatiently.

“I’m not.” He proves the words by raising his head, leaving Charles frictionless and panting. 

“That’s hum-barrassing…” Charles is turning his face to the side to avoid looking Francis directly. With his mouth drooling in the other direction, his drunken words are nearing incoherent. 

But Francis is listening so intently he’s sure he could comprehend anything that mess spews out. 

“Yes. It’s quite a new shade for you.” Francis’ words spit rapidly from his lips. Almost cutting. He’s far too eager to be heard. After imaging this scenario time and time again, how could he not be? No matter how many people he acted out this exact theatrical romp with (always mentally replacing them with his favorite companion), it was never concrete enough to satisfy his raging lust. Now, watching his desired lover writhe before him, Francis can feel the long awaited torture pressing erect against his underwear. 

Charles’ hips stretch upwards sinfully as a last-ditch effort for grinding his clothed erection against Francis’ welcoming neck. Such thought was lewd enough to make him groan, even when his struggle is taken to no avail. They fall just as fast.

Francis is perched up too straight, very expectant. “I think it’s suiting. You look so inviting with your beseeching body… your words should be the same.” The prayers formulating on Charles’ angelic lips make him wet. 

“Come’on…” Charles murmurs, on the edge of giving in.

“A good portion of me is already close against you,” Francis remarks, his gaze lingering down to his stomach. For the last minutes, he has been pressed against the open area between spread legs, where just below, his hard cock is takes pleasure by caressing couch-leather. He is quiet about it, not letting himself get too far off. “I don’t know how much more of me you want on top of you unl—“ 

“—Fucking-! Fuck me!” Charles cries out, trampling over Francis’ words. Sweat from anticipation has coated his forehead, seen when he picks his head back up to persuade Francis with needful eyes.

Inky pigment met pale blue and their shared look is instantly set ablaze. “Oh?” he asks, toothy smirk dripping with power. In many ways he has become a fox taunting a cornered rabbit.

Charles’ heavy breath shakes his chest. Hips lurch up again, this time not falling immediately back against the couch. “Strip me.” He’s not hiding now, frustrated glare focused right at his flushed companion. “And s-suck my cock- I need it in your mouth-“ His hips jerk even higher, now that he has supported himself on his elbows. 

Being met with silence just prods him on further. Francis’ glee absorbs takes up any response he’d have so far, too pleading to hear more.

“I wa’na finish in your god damn throat you horny illiterate…” His words disperse as soon as Francis’ nimbly fingers his zipper.

“Yes, sir.” There is no joke in the way Francis is purring. “Keep going if you like, you sound sexy when you’re feral.” He says, slyly pulling free as much bulge as could fit through the fabric gap. 

The fresh air greeting his dick has Charles breathlessly whispering, “Yes-yes-“ When Francis undoes his trouser button, his head has returned to pressing back against the couch.

Long fingers peel wet fabric from skin. “You’re soaked…” He comments huskily, heart pounding. He feels like everything has been leading up to this reveal, though it’s certainly not the first time. Slipping undergarments down to where they won’t be a bother, Francis hungrily watches Charles’ hard cock pop up. That would have to be added to his list of turn-ons. 

He leans in, giving the dripping head a sweet kiss. Charles deserved to be fucked tenderly. Each sculpted piece of his body admired for their exhilarating beauty. He was proud of the pre-cum that collected against his lips, because it was Charles’. 

“—Au-h!”   
His expresso stained teeth gleam when he remembers how sensitive the man is. He’s inspired to wrap his hand around the member, keeping his mouth on the head.

“Gods- yes!”   
His long tongue swirls around the top, stopping only to dip into Charles’ slit, then return to coating the rest in his saliva. He tastes like salt but Francis drinks it in like ambrosia. Charles’ hands fumble loudly along the leather couch, finally gripping onto the ends of the back-cushion.

Francis caught Charles watching down at him, while the man’s tongue was flat against the underside of his cock. He’s still for a moment, keeping eye contact but pausing his movements. 

“Don’t stop…you’re soo good…” Charles’ knuckles turn white from frustrated gripping at innocent leather.

Francis laps up a drop of pre-com while pulling away. “I’m going to make you cum.” 

“Please—“ His hand reached out to pull Francis’ head back down by his copper locks. Francis took the hint, and pressed his body against the bottom of the couch to grind roughly against it. His own cock throbbed. 

Darting his tongue to lather his lips with saliva, he extended his open mouth engulf the tip, sucking hard once it entered his mouth. Charles’ senses were overwhelmed with an extraordinary dizziness. 

“More—“ 

Francis’ tongue stretched forward, wetting the skin further than where his lips wrapped. Then, too soon, he pulled back; leaving behind a popping sound and the string of saliva stretching between them. 

Charles’ hand remained gently against Francis’ head, fingers raked in his hair. Francis cherished the intimacy, but his monster of a libido was ravenous for more.

“Pull my hair, you slut.” Francis murmurs with a smirk. 

Feeling every syllable through the hot air teasing his skin, Charles can do nothing but obey. 

Charles yanked a fist full of fiery locks, sliding Francis’ open mouth down on his cock- whom took it in graciously, like he has been waiting his entire life for this moment, this blow. A whore with purpose.

His mouth being filled into a stretch made him light-headed, but in the best of ways. It stings, hitting the wall of throat. He lost his wince however, the moment he heard the melodious song from above. This was making Charles feel that good? Francis took a breath through his nose and swallowed hard. 

“Fran—“ 

The grip on his hair tightened. It hurt, but in this moment every sensation blended together. Pain, pleasure, love. He wanted it all- harder, cutting into him. Until his blood burned for Charles. 

Masochism or sadism? He wasn’t sure. 

Charles felt his hands shake, muscles unable to remain steady while grasping so hard. He briefly worried this would be hurting Francis’ scalp, but watching the man’s swollen lips hold him was too much for worries to remain prominent in among the rest of his hazy thoughts. His mind felt molten, thoughts swimming in a drunken frenzy, connected only through boiling pleasure.

Francis tongue dragged to trace the underside of Charles’ dick. He kissed devilishly at Charles’ scrotum, letting his hand massage the slick member. Charles was covered in his own precum. It was clear wouldn’t last much longer. Switching his hand to squeeze and Charles’ balls, he retook the head into his warm mouth, before sliding it deep into his mouth. 

Charles took in a shuttering breath, toes curling in the old pair of socks he wore. Weak threads threatened to burst, leaving a toe unsheathed. 

Francis bobbed his head up and down, feeding on the feedback he was receiving. Every arrhythmic breath was like a cheer of applause. His tongue pressed towards the roof of his mouth, making the small space even tighter. In that moment, Charles came with a vulnerable whine, cock twitching in Francis’ mouth. He pulled back slightly to collected the cum on his tongue, like a proletariat sipping fine champagne- but in a really fucked up way. 

After swallowing, he sat up with a content smile. His throat ached and he savored the salty warmth sliding down it. 

Charles’ looked like he had bonded to the couch with the sticky sweat that coated his body. His hands were limp next to his thighs, and his head lulled forward with exhaustion. His clear blue eyes peered forward, however, and that focused attention was all Francis was able to cling to. 

“I know you missed that.” He said soothingly, a sinning hand creeping to Charles’ thigh. It was a shame he still adorned his pants. Francis wanted to see how his body glistened below the fabric. 

“—Yeah.” Charles managed. “Fantastic- you feel-“ the words escaped him in a drunken afterglow. 

Francis tittered, finding the loss of vocabulary unexplainably cute. Only Charles could manage adorable and sexy at the same time without looking like a bimbo. Francis tried to ease his extremely hard erection by breathing through his nose. It did nothing to help. 

Charles looked up at the ceiling, using a hand to messily wipe sweat from his forehead. “You’re kind to me, too much.” His gaze moved downwards to Francis. What he saw was a blur of red and white, but it was close enough. “Let me make ‘et up to ya?” The words left his mouth before he could progress them. He didn’t want to have sex right now, he wanted to sleep. Sleep in his bed until Millie came home to join him. But this is what he did when inebriated, he clung to companionship. He didn’t so much need it, as the liquid courage told him to take it anyways. 

“Yeah?” Francis asked as if his repayment was a question. They both knew it wasn’t. 

Boney fingers softened to affectionately pet Charles’ knee. He tried at a nod but found the movement too dizzying. Maybe after Francis had finished, Charles would lay on the tiled bathroom floor until his head stop spinning. That sounded lovely, he thought, as did a nap.

“Yeah?” Francis asked again, this time letting the syllables drag. 

Pulled out from his busying mind, Charles blinked back into focus. Blurred, but able to converse nonetheless. “Yes.” He agreed. He looked up to find Francis’ inviting smile spread about his features. It was comforting. Too much, nearly. Soothing strokes to his knee, the warmth of orgasm and alcohol, quiet words escaping from believably kind lips. Fleetingly he was reminded of Richard’s comment about how comfortable the warn leather couch had been to sleep on.

He did not feel his heavy lids sink closed. He only watched the world flicker out. 

“No.” It snapped Charles back to consciousness this time. The room batted back into back into site with a few slow blinks. “No…” Francis repeated, tone was sweeter to rephrase just how desperately he wanted, no, needed, Charles to fight his fatigue. In return the man pouted sleepily, gutting out a swollen lower lip.

“Charles, Charles…” His kind hands moved up to Charles’ slack jaw, leaving his pads of his thumbs to rest against the man’s earlobes. “You must keep your eyes open.” He has to.

And like so many things Charles Macaulay was told he must do, he obeyed to only a certain extent. This particular time he allowed his eyes to remain open, but unconscious allowed himself into a state of blackout. “’S hard.” He slurred vacantly. His eyes were beautiful even in their state of blankness. Francis thought he looked like a well-loved doll. His for the taking.

“That’s right, Charles. It’s hard but you can do it.” He helped encourage Charles by gently pushing and pulling the bottom of his face into a nod. 

His gentleness replaced itself with something less tender as his growing arousal still throbbed against the edge of couch, begging for attention.

Rising from his knees without losing his grip, he looked down at his lover, wondering just what to do with him. He had so many fantasies planned out, but in the moment things were too tangible to not play by ear. Charles was so ever changing in opinion and action, he couldn’t stick to one set of motions to seduce him successfully. Finally, from his vantage point, he predatorily extended his grip down to grab hold of Charles from under his armpits before hoisting him up onto the ground and directly against his own body. “There-“ he groaned, “-you go” at the sensation of Charles against his need.

Charles didn’t reply, instead looking from Francis and his own feet, trying to decipher what had just happened. Before the movements could make sense to him, Francis began pulling him in the direction of his bedroom. Their drinks remained to later become evidence of their time together.

\- - -

Francis welcomed Charles to his own room in a manner that would suggest he paid the rent. And to be fair, he would pay Charles’ half without a moment of hesitation if he was ever asked. Charles certainly fit the part of a handsome young man being taken care of by someone. A likely image of a slutty cougar on a cigaret diet surfaced in Francis’ mind. Charles as her prize to display as arm candy; decoration without purpose, if not including the enhancement her status. 

A flicker of a frown crossed his expression but it would not be noticed as no one was paying attention. Francis would rather off himself than live long enough in a future like that.

Their present was darker only in physical aspect. He had to balance the dead weight of Charles leaning against his chest while thumbing the wall for the light switch. He found it rather quickly from muscle memory, roughly six inches from the doorframe.

Charles buried his face harder into Francis’ top, staining it with drool. “B-ght” he tried to express at the sudden illumination of the room.

Francis hushed him.

This switch controlled the overhead lamp that was attached to a fan. It was kept off ninety percent of the time, as Charles always preferred the more romantic lighting that his bedside table gave. The yellowed lampshade gave off a filtered cast to the room. He loved it. Without it he swore the room did not belong to him. 

He was led to the queen sized bed that lay in the middle of the room, held by Francis’ grip on his hips. Charles didn’t consciously allow his legs to dragged along, they simply chose to on their own accord, wanting to make the short trip more difficult. Despite the effort, his trousers had been lost along the way.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now.” Francis warned teasingly. He fumbled in his coat pocket, fingering a cigaret box, lighter, what felt like a pen, until… there! A small traveling bottle was tossed onto the bed. The jacket followed suit, neater, as Francis gave a half-assed job at folding it. He loved that jacket and loathed to see corduroy wrinkle horizontal of its intended pattern.

Charles had been subjectively asleep since… he came? His last drink? He certainly would not remember which by the time he resurfaced.

Francis removed his shirt and trousers, letting out a hiss as his erection finally became free from its tight restraints. He looked down at Charles drowsy face. He looked extremely pale under the harsh white light. “You’re truly an angel.”

Charles didn’t reply. His lids fluttered closed, reopened, and fluttered closed again and again as his body ached to just stop. 

“Truly.” Francis repeated. His underwear fell to the ground around his boney ankles. He stepped forward, towards his partner.

His hand caresses the man’s cheekbones. “Please stay awake, Charles. Please.” He realizes he’s praying for a blessing he does not deserve. “If you can.”

He can’t. Charles’ lids close once more without the return of his crisp blue eyes. 

Francis’s heart is pounding in his chest. This is the moment of anagnorisis. Charles’ face relaxes to an expression of ease. His lips have found a comfortable repose, parting themselves just enough to show a pair of boyishly oversized front teeth. He is beautiful in every way Francis could ever ask for. Even in sleep. Even when he fucking falls asleep before they can fuck.

Francis takes a shaky breath. His hand seizes back in a sudden movement and before he can stop himself he sends a punch to the unoccupied bed space before him. “You always do this!” He roars, lips snarling with the menace of a wounded animal. 

Frustrated tears blur his vision and Charles is still just as beautiful, like a thick pastel painting.

Keeping his fist in its homely dent in the comforter, he remained hunched over. Tears drip down onto Charles’ chest, but only a few. He can count them on one hand before he refuses to allow any more to dampen his love. 

He knows this is his own fault. He knows this and he hates himself for it. Once again he has indulged Charles too far and only to gain what him? An unwanted blow job and an awkward follow up conversation in the morning? 

And the consequences. How dare he feed his precious boy’s dangerous habits. He is to share in the blame of Charles’ alcoholism by now. 

His trembling fist has his whole body shaking at the worst of it. How disgusting he is to feel all of this regret, let it rattle him to his bones, but still remain hard leaning over a corpse-like Charles. 

Who the fuck stays turned on during a panic attack?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowza this really took longer than I expected it to. I guess that's because I started it immediately after the last chapter but could not get it how I was intending for the longest time. (especially with wring drunk character, holy shit).
> 
> Sorry about that! 
> 
> I might be adding a concluding chapter but I'm feeling weird about pushing the dubcon as far as I feel would be accurate for them? Feel free to give me your thoughts on this!
> 
> Translation references may be found below:  
> Anagnorisis: is a moment in a play or other work when a character makes a critical discovery

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE 10/11/16: I've edited a bit of chapter one to fit better with what I've slowly been working on in chapter two. I'm so sorry for the delay, yikes!
> 
> \-----
> 
> This is meant to take place during the search for Bunny's body. At this time Charles has piggybacking the majority of investigation stress. 
> 
> As the summery alludes to, this will hopefully be followed with a chapter of smut. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Translation references may be found below:  
> Εὖγε: (Greek) well or done  
> Pydna: Refrence to the Battle of Pydna in 168 BC  
> Pothos: Acient Greek god of sexual longing, yearning and desire  
> Elysian Fields: final resting place of the souls of the heroic and the virtuous


End file.
